AN: How long till it's finished? Well, my goal is to have the Sheppard jinx befall all the major characters around him, so that can be a general guide, but also, after everyone's had their injury-time, I'm going to wrap up the fic with the training mission. So that's a rough estimate of what's left. Also, some things are slowly being explained. The detail will continue to be revealed. If a detail isn't present in this chapter, it's going to be coming soon, for example, Sheppard will be gifted with his medic alert dog tags in the future (they've got to order 'em, you know). Also, this is fun, I started this as a humorous response to a conversation with paris on the GW Sheppard whump forum, so I'm staying true to the original intent, and that's to make people laugh. There won't be any serious angsting in this fic. I've been completely surprised by the response and I swear, I'm trying to actually reply to reviews now! But for the ones in the past, thank you thank you!

Abr. Guide: OTS officer training school
Planetary status: I inhabited, Ukn unknown, Uh uninhabited

Also, note for those of you who've been out of chemistry for a while, mercury is an extremely heavy metal.

Chapter four

"He's allergic!" crowed McKay.

Sheppard rolled his head sideways, the infirmary pillow crinkling as he moved, and glared balefully over the oxygen mask stuck to his face. Penicillin 1, Sheppard 0. But that didn't mean he was going to lie here and listen to McKay getting over-excited that he was no longer the only member of the team with a potentially life-threatening allergy. Sheppard pulled the mask from his face, wrinkling his nose as the fine mist of Albuterol, saline and oxygen tickled his nostrils. "Look, McKay," he wheezed, his hand shaking from the effects of the medication, "it's more likely you eating citrus off world than me getting exposed to penicillin, so don't get all happy."

Did McKay look down-hearted or deterred? Not even an ounce. He was still beaming, his head propped up, along with his wrist on another pillow. The IV pump was still there, still beeping with annoying frequency. "I really don't care." He grinned wider.

"Loose lips, Rodney," chided Carson, appearing from the open doors. He carried a medical scanner in his hand and quickly surveyed his patients, doing a visual check before he turned and grabbed the metal frame at the end of a gurney. As he pulled, the bed with Ronon appeared.

Going with the ABC's of triage, Sheppard had been whisked to the infirmary first. Carson had administered Benadryl, ordered an injection of steroid, and then a breathing treatment. The reaction was moderate, Carson had said, before heading off to rendezvous with the medical team en route with Ronon's gurney.

"What took so long?" Sheppard was only asking because he felt guilty, seeing the beads of sweat and the general twisted, contorted, pained expression marring Ronon's face. You know, what with him being kind of responsible. But not that much. Some day Ronon was going to have to learn to quit shooting Sheppard, and two, quit carrying him around. Those were generally things in John Sheppard's book of How to Make Your Commanding Officer Irritated and Resentful.

Ronon shot Sheppard a look that promised some training sessions from hell once they were both recovered. "I could've walked," he growled.

Carson rolled his eyes and said, "That's what took so long." The doctor stepped out of the way for the tech to push the gurney the rest of the way into position against the wall, between Sheppard and McKay. "Bunch of bloody men in diapers, I'm beginning to think."

"Hey!" Sheppard's protest died in a cough.

McKay's grin slipped. "I'm not wearing diapers! Am I?" The crooked loopy dreamy expression drifted back. "I don't think I could walk a straight line right now to save my life." He chuckled and then gave Carson a thumb's up. "This is really good stuff this time, Carson." The compliment was given with sloppy appreciation bordering on puppy-dog adoration. "I think I might bump you into a higher classification of a scientist."

"What are diapers?" Ronon asked the question through clenched teeth. He hunched over, grabbing for his knee as the nurse tried to take control.

Carson stood at the end of Ronon's bed and stared wonderingly at the three of them, and Sheppard got the distinct feeling of being a kid in the principal's office, and not for a reward, either. "My nightmares are made of things like this." The doc shook his head, exhaled, then fixed his ire on Sheppard first. "If I see that mask off your face again, Colonel, I'm liable to stick a tube down your bloody throat." Then to Ronon, "Let the nurse scan that knee, son, or so help me, I'll let her practice surgical skills for her resume." Lastly, to McKay, "And that's it for you, Rodney, I'm taking away your control before you wind up serenading us with O! Canada, or worse yet, another round of physics folk songs."

Sheppard's mouth twitched underneath the compression of the mask, just itching to snap back something stupid, but infinitely satisfying. In the end, he just kept twitching. Ronon pulled his hands back from his knee but made sure the nurse knew it was begrudgingly done, and McKay, well, who knew physics folk songs really existed?

OoO

Mission Designation: 0323-PX4-MM5.

Sheppard's hands paused over the keyboard. He considered the report form, full of empty blanks. He was going to use his time stuck in the infirmary and work on his overdue report, the one Elizabeth had sent back with a 'redo' ticket. Next to the block for secondary designation, usually reserved for the native's designation for their world -- such as Athos -- he typed AKA Planet Boom.

Personnel assigned: Lt. Col. Sheppard, Dr. McKay, R. Dex, T. Emmagan

Departure time: 0900 hours, Friday, September 23rd, 2006, EST

Initial survey: see att. 1, 2a and 2b

Planetary classification: M

Status (I, Uh, Ukn:) I

COMMENTS:

(ADDITIONAL INSTRUCTIONS: REPORT ALL CONTACT IF STATUS OF PLANET IS I, ATTACH REPORTS FROM SCIENCE CONTIGENT AND ALL RELEVANT TACTICAL INFORMATION. REFERENCE ANY PLANETARY INJURY REPORTS AND INCLUDE MEDICAL DOCUMENTATION FOR INJURED MEMBERS. REMEMBER, COFFIN: Contact Of Flora Fauna In Notes FOR ACCURACY)

McKay grunted, snorted then went to brush a hand against his face, forgetting that the arm in question was wrapped thick and not feeling all that great. The startled yelp made Sheppard's fingers slip. He shot a look across the bed that separated them. The empty bed. Lucky bastard, Ronon.

His knee had been dislocated, relocated, then Carson had sent him off to his quarters on crutches and orders to stay off it, glaring at Sheppard the whole time he was doing so. What the hell was that about, anyway? It wasn't like he wasn't staying off his foot. He was off it now.

"Oh, God, I want my pain pump back," moaned McKay.

"You shouldn't have been such a happy drug-ee." Sheppard put his fingers back in place and tried to come up with an opening sentence for planet Boom's mission. Apparently saying the planet offered nothing in the way of hidden ZPM's, other technology or allies for trading, wasn't enough. Especially with the notes on why McKay had to wear ear muffs for the week after they got back. Yeah, he probably should've just left that part off and let it fall into the ignominy of rumor.

McKay blinked at Sheppard. "Why are you still here? I thought Carson was letting you go after Ronon."

"What, McKay, don't like to share the nurses?" Sheppard typed the opening word, frowned at it, backspaced. Damn it. How to do this without making them look like idiots?

Sheppard heard McKay shifting in his bed, then the soft-slurps of water being drank from a straw. The lights were out, but for his laptop screen and what spilled in from the hallway and Carson's office. This was the doc's pointed attempt at getting him to sleep. Sheppard smirked. Yeah…he wasn't ten, and he hadn't willingly done a bedtime in at least that long. Well. Okay, OTS, but that didn't count.

More groaning. "No, I don't. I prefer to be the sole object of attention when I'm ensconced in their loving care – why would I want it any other way?"

Sheppard settled for nodding a little. Didn't really blame McKay for that one. A couple of the nurses were hot. The blonde-haired –

"Really, why are you still here?"

Sheppard looked over, tried to act like it wasn't a big deal. "Doc said something about observation, relapse, infection and maybe something about my oxygen sats being low." He leaned a little further and lowered his voice, going confidential, mano y mano. "Personally, I think he just likes my company."

"Really?"

"No."

"Oh."

So…the report. The thing of it was, the natives had a trial, a test to see if the people coming through the stone ring were worthy. It hadn't been a big deal, they'd faced that kind of thing before, but on planet Boom, they handled it a little differently.

AFTER DEPARTING THE STARGATE, WE WERE MET BY THE MYTHIANS. DR. MCKAY'S INITIAL SCAN REVEALED A POSSIBLE ENERGY SOURCE APPROXIMATELY FIVE KLICKS TO THE SOUTHWEST OF THE STARGATE. TEYLA REQUESTED PERMISSION TO TRAVEL THEIR LANDS AND THAT WAS WHEN –

"What are you typing?"

The question startled Sheppard, and he jerked his fingers away, again. Finally on a roll and now he lost it. "Remember planet Boom?" he asked out the corner of his mouth, still trying to get his thoughts back on the sentence and finish it.

-- THE LEADER, SAGA, SAID ANY WHO WISHED TO TRAVEL THROUGH THE SACRED LANDS WOULD HAVE TO TAKE A "TEST OF WORTH.' I WAS ASSURED THE TEST WAS HARML--

"I thought you turned that one in already?" McKay's voice took on a nervous volume. "Done, filed, over, we could forget it ever happened."

Sheppard shrugged. "I tried, Rodney." A cough crept up his throat and he tried to choke it back.

"Well --" McKay flapped his good arm. "Gloss over it. You know, creative writing. I've read some of the reports you've filed, you can do it."

His fingers were crooked over the laptop, an ache beginning to build behind his eyes. "Look, it wasn't that bad, why don't you just bite the bullet and --"

"Wasn't that bad?!" McKay practically came out of the bed. "Do you have any idea how many nights after we got back that I went to sleep with that noise still ringing in my ears? It was like Jason Voorhees meets The Gong Show!"

"I didn't say it wasn't traumatic." Sheppard's attempt at sympathizing fell a little short, because McKay's strident statement had served to bring back memories he'd tried hard to bury and never resurrect. Like, buried more than the proverbial six feet deep. Think, Marianna trench deep. McKay hadn't been the only one jumping for days, weeks after, it's just Sheppard was a lot better at hiding things like that.

Suddenly, finishing the report lost all appeal. Sighing, Sheppard clicked SAVE FILE and brought up minesweeper. It was a tie between that and solitaire. He kind of sucked at solitaire.

McKay's side of the room had grown quiet. Sheppard studied the map of 1's and 2's, a couple of 3's and 4's. Hmmm. He clicked, phew, good, and clicked again, big red bomb of you suck appeared. Damn it.

"No, really, you aren't going to tell her everything, are you?"

OoO

"Good morning, Colonel!"

Carson's overly cheerful greeting made Sheppard burrow further under his pillow. He made a dialect-specific sound that Sheppard thought was suspiciously like 'och' and then slipped right into, "If someone had gone to bed when I suggested, they wouldn't be tired and out of sorts."

From underneath his pillow, Sheppard protested that lie. "I'm not out of sorts." His lips mushed into the mattress when he talked and it felt kind of wet. Like he'd drooled in his sleep.

When there wasn't a response, Sheppard finally flipped the pillow to the side and raised his head, being careful not to jar his foot when he began to move. It always felt so good when he first woke up…then he'd move and so long, sweet relief, hello Percocet. Carson had his arms folded over his stethoscope and was watching Sheppard with a jaded eye. "I only hate mornings when I'm in the infirmary," he defended. "Something about being woken up just to have a thermometer shoved in my --"

The arms came down in a disbelieving motion. "We don't do rectal temperatures!"

Sheppard grinned. "—my mouth," he enunciated, "really ruins my day."

The dark look from Carson made Sheppard painfully aware that only one of them was amused. You win some, you lose some. Funny, though, seemed Doc got his smile back when he started poking and prodding Sheppard. When he got to the foot, though, Sheppard yanked it back and glowered. "It's fine, Doc," he gritted. Now that he'd moved, yep, pulsing with the beginning throbs of pain.

A snort came across the room. "If it's so fine, then why won't you let Carson see it?"

"Shut up, McKay." Sheppard brandished his pillow to make the point that he was armed and dangerous.

"Oh, right, big of you, pick on the injured man."

"I'M injured!"

And while McKay ran interference, Carson grabbed Sheppard's leg and held it tight. "There, now," he said, trying not to roll his eyes and failing at Sheppard's surprised grunt. "Nothing to it." He released Sheppard's foot after poking at the toes gently with the tip of his pen. He scooted back on the stool and grabbed his notepad, entered something, then smiled at Sheppard. "The Trimethoprim-Sulfamethoxazole combination is doing nicely."

The only satisfaction Sheppard got out of all that was watching Carson turn his attention to McKay.

After the torture was over, Carson announced that Sheppard and McKay could be released. McKay was to head for his quarters and absolutely stay away from the lab, whereas Sheppard had a staff meeting at eleven. Joy. Apparently, no days off for allergy reactions. Well, maybe half a day. And some change.

The crutches of doom were returned to him, and he and McKay waited to sign their discharge papers, gather their medications (new antibiotics for Sheppard, good pain pills for McKay). McKay tried to bribe him with all the pseudo-chocolate chip cookies from the mainland that he could pirate back to the city in exchange for Sheppard 'losing' the second version of the mission report for PX4-MM5, the one he still hadn't finished anyway. He told McKay not for all the tea in china.

Finally, they walked out. McKay with his arm in a sling, strapped tight to his side, and Sheppard, valiantly hop-thunking to keep up. At the transporter, they went different directions. McKay off to rest – yeah, right, Sheppard knew for a fact that McKay had Zelenka already waiting on the other end of AtlantisTalk, ready so he could snap out orders – and Sheppard was off to attend a meeting, topic unknown, but unless it was about the wraith, killer storms, or lost teams, he didn't really care. It was an art, to look like you were paying attention in a meeting, when really, you might be calculating the flight time to the breakers on the mainland for some serious R&R.

He was surprised to find Ronon at the meeting, and even more surprised to find out it was a grievance issue over RononGate. Seems some females had taken exception to the 'make men out of the women' comment and had raised enough of a stink to get it taken to the top. "He's an alien, Elizabeth. Political correctness hasn't made the galactic jump."

Zelenka rushed through the door, hair ruffled, face red. He murmured an apology for being late before sliding into the empty seat by Sheppard. Leaning over, Sheppard asked, "Incapable, incompetent, or just idiotic this time?"

A Czech curse filled the room. "All three!"

"I'm not an alien, Sheppard."

Teyla tapped a few fingers ominously on the table. "No, you are not," she agreed. "Merely you often do not think before you speak, or, in this instance, type."

"Next time tell him there's server problems then shut the program off."

Zelenka breathed deep. "I've tried. He gets Miko to snitch."

"I can take care of that for you," Ronon offered.

The feminine throat-clearing was loud enough to make the men stop talking and look for the source. Elizabeth sat in her chair, fingers clutching the armrest. She looked kind of like she'd swallowed something sour. "Gentlemen," she said frostily. "The purpose of this meeting is to discuss proper e-mail etiquette and gender equality, not," she emphasized, "how to circumvent Rodney's attempts at being involved even while restricted to his quarters."

Sheppard opened his mouth to say something about double standards, when she made a face he was pretty sure was just for his benefit and added, "Though I am sure Carson will be interested to hear about it when we're finished."

Now, as I was saying, Ronon, on our world, men and women are considered equal. Saying things like 'make women into men' is considered –"

Sheppard smiled irreverently. "Against the law. Toss you in the dungeon."

"Colonel…"

"Throw away the key --"

Elizabeth was tight-lipped, but Teyla was fighting to hide a smile. A moment passed, and Sheppard cleared his throat self-consciously, ran his hand across the table surface, reconsidering. "So, you know, maybe you should…" he bobbed his head a little, "try not to say things…like that…again."

He wondered if it was too late to blame the Percocet?

OoO

Sheppard and Ronon were crutch-buddies, and since they couldn't do any sparring, they decided to work on their upper arm strength. Ronon assured Sheppard this would work them up into a sweat without them having to hardly move their legs at all. The hallway just outside of the gym had an overhanging balcony. Ronon took the bottom level, claiming Sheppard was nowhere near ready to toss up, so that left him with the top. After catching the kaba once, Sheppard had to agree with Ronon's assessment. The Satedan ball wasn't your mommy's basketball. The heavy leather-bound object must've been filled with sand. Possibly sand mixed with mercury.

He leaned over the railing just in time to catch it, his fingertips burning from the effort of holding on. The crutches were discarded behind him, the overdue report shoved out of his thoughts – he really didn't want to write it – and it was just sheer physical endurance looming ahead for the next hour.

After aiming the kaba just a little off to the side to make Ronon hop for it, Sheppard got ready for the return toss. He had to hop left, lunge against the railing again, and felt a solid hit that he knew was going to be a bruise on his chest tomorrow. But he got it. And he also cut his hour estimate down to about thirty minutes. Geez, you think you're in shape and then you have Ronon introduce you to a kid's game.

"Ready, big guy?" he taunted, sliding even further to the right.

Ronon grinned upwards, slapped his hands together. "Bring it on, Sheppard."

Sheppard leaned over and tossed it, and even as it left his fingertips, he saw the familiar auburn hair walk out from underneath the balcony right into the line of fire. Ronon was looking up at the ball and didn't see her. "Teyla!"

She looked up and only had time to get part of her arm in place to deflect the kaba. It glanced off the top of her head and part of her forearm. Teyla dropped as fast as if she'd been hit with a stunner, out cold. Sheppard stared in horror at Ronon and Ronon was hopping hurriedly towards Teyla.

"Medical emergency outside the gym!" Thank God he was wearing his comm.. Then, forgetting his crutches, he hopped to the stairs and practically slid down them on his ass, before rushing to Ronon and Teyla. He was breathing the breath of the damned. "Tell me --"

"She's okay." Ronon pulled back so Sheppard could see.

Teyla's chest rose and fell in a normal, healthy rhythm. Her color was okay, no blood. Oh, crap. Sheppard felt the floor meet his butt, let his head fall into his hands. Was his heart ever going to recover? "Probably a concussion," he swore, half to convince himself.

Sheppard could say one thing for the medical teams on Atlantis, they were fast. Already he could hear the clatter of wheels rushing down the hall towards them. He managed to scoot to the side and watched as Carson ran through a preliminary check. After nodding to his team to lift her to the gurney, he turned his attention on Sheppard and Ronon. "From what I can tell, she's lucky. I'll need a scan to be sure, but I'd guess she'll get off with a mild concussion and a badly bruised arm. If she hadn't gotten it up in time, it might be a different story." He lifted the abandoned kaba, his eyes widening as he felt the weight. "Bloody hell, colonel, does this fall under 'light duty?""

Sheppard opened his mouth to say that, well, he really didn't think it'd been specified when Carson shook his head, angry and let the ball drop to the floor with a loud thunk. "No, don't answer that, we both know it doesn't. Now, guess where you've earned yourself a free trip to?"

Ronon looked uncomfortable, picked up his crutches and tried to slink off. Didn't really work with crutches.

Carson pursed his lips at Ronon. "You are to go to your quarters, am I understood?"

"Sure, Doc." Ronon had the decency to toss Sheppard a look of pity before hopping away.

"Colonel, where are your crutches?"

That was the first step in digging his grave. Sheppard had faced down wraith, Genii, even dinosaurs on that one planet…but Carson carried this whole other level of intimidation. Still, he was an Air Force Colonel, approaching forty.

"I left them on the balcony."

Carson nodded, acting like he understood. Even like he was sympathetic to Sheppard's plight, seeing Teyla knocked out from their game, and all. "And how did you get from the balcony down here?"

"Doc…"

"Have you looked at your foot?"

Sheppard got a sinking feeling and looked down. Blood had soaked through the white sock he wore over his partial cast. He felt his shoulders slump. "Crap." Well, he'd been planning on going to see how Teyla was doing anyway…

TBC